


Ouroboros

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bittersweet, Childhood Friends, Dark Magic, Dementor's Kiss, Divorced Lucius Malfoy, Dubious Consent, Hurt/Comfort, Lonely Snape, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Severus Snape Lives, Severus Snape-centric, Soulmates, Sub Lucius Malfoy, Touch-Starved, Trial of Lucius Malfoy, Virgin Severus Snape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:56:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21977698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Severus Snape seeks to prolong the life of Lucius Malfoy after he had been given the Dementor’s kiss by means of a spell which imbues fragments of his own soul into the wraith-like body of one whose spirit is lost. In the aftermath of the Wizarding War, Severus pursues the happiness which was denied to him throughout most of his life, hoping that the restored man he had idolized in his youth would requite his feelings in weakness and ignominy, as he dared not to do while he still aspired to power.
Relationships: Lucius Malfoy & Severus Snape, Lucius Malfoy/Severus Snape
Kudos: 42





	Ouroboros

After the end of the second Wizarding War, some were surprised to learn that Severus Snape had returned to Hogwarts, resuming his position as teacher of Defense Against the Dark Arts, likewise rejecting the awards and pageantry thrust upon him for his “brave and noble conduct, his daring and self-sacrifice” as he was distastefully styled a hero by the Daily Prophet (partially due to the influence of the evermore renowned Harry Potter). Despite Harry’s efforts to make amends for long-lived hatred towards the professor, an aura of doubt still lingered about Snape in the minds of some of the wizarding world, and even in the young man’s conscience as he recalled the cruelty of his old potion’s master, some acts more easily justifiable than others. Indeed, unlike Harry, there were those who still believed that Snape was sincere in his allegiance to the Dark Lord and that only by cunning deceit did he so elaborately twist the facts of past events into a shocking and dramatic tale of redemption. Ultimately, he returned to Hogwarts as an enigmatic figure, receiving a mixed reception even among the Slytherines, while relations with the other staff had become increasingly more strained.

Yet no such redemption was within reach for Lucius Malfoy, and other Death Eaters who fell far from the protective circle of Dumbledore’s favor prior to the death of the venerated headmaster. When the summons came to stand trial once more, this time for his war crimes and cowardice during the Battle of Hogwarts, he knew that there was little that he could do or say to shed the incriminating deeds which clung to his reputation. Even in the eyes of his wife, there was no sympathy left for one who had time and again failed to protect his family, acting selfishly and recklessly, not heeding to her pleas to seek the aid and mercy of the Order of the Phoenix – this view solidifying once she had learned of the details of Draco’s encounter with Dumbledore.

There was but one compensating act which counted with her; after their separation, Lucius allowed Narcissa to give testimony against him, providing true and detailed evidence during the trial in order to further distance herself from the house of Malfoy in the public eye. Whether she would have likewise condemned him without his assent, he did not wish to conjecture. In his defeated state, he felt that the knowledge would hold little power to harm him – their union had long been a marriage in name only, and his sentence was not to be shaken off, with or without Narcissa’s testimony. There were many others, especially amongst the Death Eaters, who were eager and willing.

Witches and wizards shunned the Malfoys, deeming them unworthy of respect – they had crossed the line of notoriety past a point of no return. Even the Goyles had managed to slink away with a smaller portion of public contempt than was their due. On the day of the trial, Lucius recalled how a filthy old hag had spat upon his cloak as he was escorted into the courtroom past the crowd of gathered onlookers, their faces marked by what he saw as satisfied vindictiveness.

He wondered how many of them had played an active role in the battle against Voldemort, and which of them merely hid in their houses behind protective spells like frightened rabbits. Two Aurors made a way through the sea of black, for by custom all wore funereal garb in respect for the fallen.

“See ‘em that’s Malfoy there, won’t look so proud once they’re done with him,” Lucius caught the voice of a stranger, grinning through his black scraggly beard while bloodshot eyes followed the blond wizard. He was right in observing that Malfoy retained something of his haughty bearing, whether real or assumed. From that moment he avoided the gaze of the gawkers, not wishing to ruffle his composure which he needed for the trial itself. It could not be denied, despite his outward position of contemptuous resignation, that a part of him still held his breath for some intervention that would save him, which would take nothing short of a miracle.

In the weeks prior to the court hearing, Lucius had written to Severus Snape, asking for him to attend as a witness, but had received no reply. Another and then anther owl was sent to the old potions master, fairing no better. Malfoy could not account for the other’s actions (or lack thereof) – to pointedly ignore him during the lowest point of his life, after years of friendship, to show such blatant indifference to his plight enraged him more than he would care to admit.

Perhaps he had had enough, not wishing to entangle himself further with one who had sunk to the depths of disfavor, with both the current Ministry and even with Lord Voldemort’s remaining sympathizers. Indeed that seemed to him the only explanation, that Severus had traced the dangers and difficulties with which his life had been plotted back to his days at Hogwarts, when he had first become enamored with the young Malfoy and ensnared by the Dark Arts.

While Lucius had some inkling of these budding affections, he was not in a position to return or even acknowledge them, realizing by worldly wisdom that the will and power of his family was stronger than the youthful infatuations of schoolboys. Nevertheless, it was not with indifference that he watched the rise and fall of Snape’s desires towards Lily Evans, as secretive and clumsy as those towards himself. While deep roots grew within the hooked-nosed boy’s heart, nothing blossomed through the surface of his intricate inner world of unrequited longing – not until the passing of many years, when both Lily and Lucius were far beyond his grasp.

Even as he stood before the grim faces of the Wizengamot, he could not help but scan the rows for the familiar black eyes and greasy hair of Severus Snape – but he was not there.

“Please take a seat,” a thin voice called from somewhere in the shadows and the chair where he once sat moved into view, locking his wrists into place. His lip curled at the indignity and he met the eyes of the venerable-looking judge with an amused arrogant expression which did little to soften him. They all knew how it would go and he did not care to play along with the charade. 

At the conclusion of the trial, the only thing that surprised Lucius was the fate of the Malfoy estate and fortune, which were confiscated by the Ministry in order to pay for repairs and finance St. Mungo’s, still much in need of healers and potion supplies in the aftermath of the war. He tried to look complacent, even pleased with the decision. The fate that awaited him would leave little of him to care for what became of his earthly possessions, even so, there was a sting in knowing that he was ruined – it was the end of an era for an ancient pureblood family, cast into the dust like the Guants, the Princes, and so many other wizarding lines. Lucius had little faith that Draco possessed the ambition and the capacity required to restore what his father had lost, furthermore, a rift had formed between them that would likely take years to repair – only he would not have years, nor was the strength of his beliefs what it had once been.

He could not blame Draco for siding with his mother, hoping that the punishment he would face would perhaps bridge the way to forgiveness, if only after his death. Before he had left for the trial he dispatched an owl to his son, endeavouring to explain himself, showing, if not remorse, than at least a realization that he had erred in his calculations. He knew it was an unsatisfying account, the fine words of wisdom or sentimentality did not come to him as he had imagined, in that poignant moment when he imagined his impending demise. He had been foolish and weak, he had failed him, but he would never cease to love his son, was proud of him for resisting the Dark Lord and thereby sparing Potter from his fate. _His mercy had been his strength._ He found that there was little more that he had left unsaid. 

Little did Lucius Malfoy suspect that it would be Severus, and not his sole heir, that would be waiting for him after his release from Azkaban three years hence, and if he could have seen himself then he would have rather wished himself dead. Snape beheld the invalid form of Lucius Malfoy, lean and haggard, his face almost cadaverous in appearance. Hallow-eyed, he looked at Snape as he supported him into the cab, neither speaking as the door slammed shut and the vehicle rolled away slowly from the seaport.

None seemed to have recognized them, by Malfoy’s changed appearance and by the heavy black cloak which veiled Snape’s features. He had been right to believe that the other would be too weak to Apparate, looking at him with a mixture of pity and anxiety, wondering if the motives which had taken him there were a cruel and selfish dream, deserving of the failure that was etched into the pitiful state of the wizard he had once known. Severus knew that if Lucius was to die, he would not soon forgive himself for what he had done, whether or not his presence at the trial would have sufficed to alter the outcome of the proceedings.

The professor’s chamber, suffocating with bottled potions ingredients and old manuscripts, was made more cold and uninviting by the presence of what looked like a stone pedestal, in shape and craftsmanship befitting to bear a coffin. Its base was engraved with a large symbol of a serpent devouring its own tail, a ring of marble with gilding upon its scales and a single ruby eye that glistened in the candle-light.

With some exertion, Severus managed to pick up the frail body of Lucius Malfoy and lower him upon a simple bed in one corner of the room as he removed his traveling cloak. There he lay with unnatural complacence, like a man only half-aware of his surroundings. Nor did he protest when Snape fed, washed and healed what external wounds he could detect, plying him with healing cordials to strengthen him before he would attempt the soul-drawing Spell of Ouroboros.

The marble pedestal emanated an aura of magic which he felt even as he slept, his arm curled about the half-sentient body of his friend. Outwardly, the days passed as they had before. Snape worked to prepare the ingredients and instructions for his lessons, allowing Lucius to rest. He ate little and showed few signs of improvement, at times Snape might have supposed him dead but for the faint signs of breathing against the crook of his neck.

After several weeks, he could see that a more natural complexion appeared in Malfoy’s face, his skin losing some of the bluish-hue which so reminded him of decay. At times Snape would awake in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, with images of Inferi still fresh in his memory, bearing the unmistakeable countenance of his friend, reaching out towards him from the dark pool of a cavernous lake, at times he wanted to give into him – as if it were a test of his revulsion to the semblance of a thing and that which lay beneath the surface. Was there really still some inkling of Malfoy’s soul remaining in the shell of a man left to him by the Dementors? During the solitary hours he was occasionally visited by this recurring doubt, plaguing him with the fear of futility, yet he would continue to try, so long Lucius lived. He would do what he could; racking his brain for what knowledge of magic and potions he had gleaned throughout his studies in order to preserve him for as long as was possible.

Each night he would kneel beside the still body, placed upon the stone which by moonlight took on the semblance of an altar, breathing the incantation which flowed from his lips with desperate hope and adoration. Severus could hear the other shift, his brow furrowing as if bracing himself against a malevolent dream, moaning and convulsing while the soul of an external entity tried to merge with his body.

All of these struggles went unnoticed by the sleeping students and teachers, a silencing charm protecting the secret of the dark magic which he worked at past midnight, leaving him weary and inattentive on the morning of the following lesson. It would take time before the spell dividing his soul reached equilibrium with that being drawn into the vessel which lingered unnaturally between life and death.

He had to believe that soon that day would come, when the two of them would begin to recover not only in body but in spirit.

Only by vague remarks from McGonagalll did Snape acknowledge that the spell was taking its toll upon him, for none of the staff knew that he had been the one to meet Lucius Malfoy after his release, nor that he was keeping him at Hogwarts. They saw only that Severus was growing more gaunt from loss of appetite, his mind lethargic, his nerves on end with impatience and irritability – obsession consumed him, such that he had lost interest in all else, needing to focus his strength and his mind upon channeling his soul into the object of his desires, each day bringing him ever closer to possessing it. Minerva could not help but observe the hostility which would rise sharply in Snape whenever she had attempted to question him about the sudden change, leaving each wishing that they had acted with greater tact.

She felt that it was her duty as headmistress to look after the well being of her both students and staff, debating whether the time had come to take more direct means to investigate Snape. A part of her felt no small amount of compunction to pry into the man’s doings, given all that he had done for Dumbledore despite the suspicions harbored against him. No – she would wait, wait and watch, rather than have Severus suffer further signs of potentially unwarranted distrust, only she pitied him, as one who kept to himself never seeking comfort nor friendship from those who were glad to offer it. Minerva worried for his health, more so his mind than his body, wondering what thoughts might be festering behind his cold defenses. Only how could she help him if he did not reach out for it, turning away from anyone who might come near to that which was hidden.

When at last Severus would rise from his knees and gaze upon Lucius, his heart would beat faster, his hands trembling as he touched the other’s pale skin. At times it seemed to him that he detected something in the other’s gaze, some flicker of emotion or of thought – that he recognized him, that he _loved him_.

A part of Snape knew that these were indulgent fantasies, yet he did not hold back in indulging them. On certain nights he would linger over the figure, whispering into its ear the monologues which kept him from sleep;

“The introspection which I was cast into at the end of the Wizarding War had led me to realize that in this life I had lived for and served others,” spoke Severus, softly stroking the locks of blond hair which fell at Lucius’s bare shoulders, tracing the line of his collarbone as his chest moved with his breathing, “carrying out their ends and working towards their ambitions – for gratitude, for approval, less than that at times,” his tone grew bitter, passing beyond a whisper, “yet into my own desires, my own hopes – I dared not to look therein, those things that had led me astray, had caused me more pain than I could endure. I have become a husk of a man, and so have you Lucius,” tears began to well in his eyes as he laid his head upon the other’s chest. 

Lucius Malfoy said nothing, nor gave any sign of hearing him, yet his serene countenance remained comforting for Snape to behold, like that of the kings and queens of folklore, whose eternal repose would one day be broken by some noble deed – releasing them from the curse, the evil which kept them from requiting a love with which a desperate soul pined away. He found solace in such naive fairytales, so unlike the grimness of reality and the loneliness which awaited him night after night.

In bittersweet longing he took the man’s limp hand and pressed it to his lips, wetting it with tears that continued to roll silently down the other’s wrist. He seemed to see himself from a distance, playing romances in his head with the oblivious form of his beloved, safe from the fear of rejection. Until then he had blinded himself from the possibility that Malfoy might be neither pleased nor grateful – that he would not reward him with what he ultimately sought after. He thought of the wizard who had asked Death for the resurrection stone in order to bring back the woman whom he loved, and the dismal end which they were met with. Would his meddling with the Ouroboros Spell meet with a similar conclusion, he wondered with dread as he pressed his friend’s hand, looking at him in the eerie stillness of the room.

Carefully, he lifted Lucius from the pedestal and lowered him onto the bed. Hitherto, moral scruples and a sense of propriety had kept him against the craving impulse with which he struggled, yet that night, overwhelmed by the premonition of failed hope, his defenses were lowered, and the weakness and desire inside of him allowed him to move further than he had allowed himself before. Lucius’s bare skin felt warm against his, Severus could feel it tremble as his fingertips explored every inch of him, touching him as faint moans escaped the parted lips. He lost himself between fantasy and reality as he wrapped himself around Malfoy, breathing in the perfumed scent of his hair, the softness of his skin, relishing the forbidden pleasure to which he had succumbed after so many years of chastity. 

...

The remnants of extinguished candles stood on the nightstand, heavy snowfall obscuring some of the morning light from the window-pane. Pieces of glass lay scattered about the floor, several books tossed unceremoniously by the fierce wind which penetrated into the small chamber. It was with self-loathing and remorse that Severus stirred from the bed, wondering at the mess of loose parchment and overturned bottles strewn about the carpet. There in a heap lay Lucius Malfoy, his hands blood-stained and the fabric of his night robe marred by the contents of an inkpot which had rolled under the table when Snape approached him with unsteady legs.

“Lucius!” Severus called out, kneeling close to his ear and examining the man’s wounds, “Lucius!” he called again, but heard no reply. Then, as he tried to lift him up, the wizard opened his eyes heavily with a moan. It felt almost painful to look at the bright light emanating from the windowpane and he turned away towards Snape, becoming gradually aware of other bruises and a dislocated ankle, as well as some inkling of what had taken place the prior night, uncertain how much had been real or merely dreamt of.

He slumped into Severus’s arms, sighing deeply as he felt the warmth of the other’s thin body engulf him, clinging to him like a drowned man. Both he and Snape felt overwhelming emotion well up inside of them as they succumbed to that which expressed their feelings more poignantly than the words they left unsaid. Snape had felt afraid, yet when the other kissed him his worries began to melt, tumbling backwards as the other pushed him against the floor in the passion of what he believed was gratitude. He could feel all that Lucius was feeling. It was like a candle lit to illuminate every sensation, every thought and emotion that passed through his mind, which for the first time was alert and conscious to every fiber of Severus Snape. Never had the notion of soulmates meant more to him than what he was experiencing with the friend for whom love had not faded through the passing of years.

When their lips parted, Lucius gazed at him with a warmth and kindness that he had not seen before in the proud countenance, there was no contempt nor anger there as he had feared. He felt something inside of him relax, like a knot that had been choking him throughout his life, the belief of his own lowliness, as one unworthy of love. Yet he could not doubt, he knew and felt the affection which the other projected, more deeply than the caress with which his hand grazed Snape’s cheekbone. With a hesitant delicacy, they moved closer to one another again as if to relive a first kiss, fully conscious of the reaction of one another’s senses as their lips met, slowly and sensually, savoring one another.

“It feels as though I am seeing you for the first time,” Lucius spoke when at last they let go, regaining his composure while his heart still pounded in his chest. The words sounded cloying as he spoke them yet when he thought of Snape he felt an adoration and longing which he knew he had never experience with another person before, so long it had been suppressed by the dust of time and the necessity to let go of that which could not be his.

“When you were sentenced to Azkaban,” began the flustered Severus Snape, “I know that you had asked for my help and yet I –“

“It is not necessary for you to explain,” Malfoy interjected, “I know what you did, and why”

“Then there can be no secrets between us,” Severus said after a pause, realizing the extent of the spell which bound them.

“Indeed not,” Lucius took his hand, holding it as he looked at the sallow-skinned wizard thoughtfully. 

“You will not leave me,” Snape’s voice was tremulous as he spoke the words, aware of how pathetic they were, childish even. Yet he did not care, he could not help himself – craving the reassurance and forgiveness he so badly needed.

“I am yours Severus,” he comforted, sensing the walls of strength melting for Snape, “you have brought me back into being and I owe you no less than my life – my love”

“You need not –“

“I want to, there is nothing left for me beyond these walls, surely you know that. The more I remember, the more painful it is – the only soothing thought that I have is that you have remained loyal to me, and that I would like to repay your devotion”

“It is less than loyalty, it is selfishness, but you do not need my confession. You are aware of what I have done”

“Yes Severus, but I understand you, better than I ever have. It is time that we both retire into obscurity, together,” he followed Snape’s thoughts into the realms of the future which he already traced to fanciful idylls of domestic bliss. How amusing it was to delve into the mysteries of the man’s secretive heart, whose secrets, it turned out, where rather humble and commonplace.

“You echo my wishes as yourself or as...as my mirror,” he looked down, realization creeping upon him as he wondering if he had gazed at nothing more than a husk with his own thoughts and feelings reflected upon Lucius’s handsome features.

“Do not mar a pleasant dream, always searching for the seams and its source. It need not matter what your moment of bliss is made of, when it has finally come – when you can trust that it shall not harm you”

“What are you then?” he asked, insistently. Snape felt a certain distaste, almost aversion, seep through him as he looked back at the elegant figure before him, its languid posture, its voice, its smile so much like the Lucius Malfoy he remembered, yet was it all a deception he had worked upon himself?

“Am I a ‘what’ then? A creature that you made? What a pity you should think so,” smirked Malfoy, “can you no longer believe me, now when I move and breathe, or do you prefer the yielding doll which you can kiss and fondle without the scrutiny of consciousness?”

Snape’s cheeks burned, feeling both ashamed and angry to hear him speak thus.

“I forgive you Severus, indeed I would enjoy a repetition of our prior night,” Lucius smiled provokingly, “you have done no wrong against me, if only in hindsight. You have reserved your love for me and I would accept it gladly”

“Yet I feel no love in your voice, you are displeased with me,” said Snape coldly.

“How very perceptive,” Malfoy replied, debating whether to speak sincerely or continue to taunt Snape for what he felt was a rejection of himself.

“I do not reject you – I will not destroy you, even if you are only my own soul and yours is irrevocably lost, not as long as you wish to live. And this you will be free to do, even if it is not by my side,” spoke Severus somberly, continuing to hold the other’s hand, stroking it gently to convey what was absent in his tone.

“Thank you Severus,” he leaned his head against the other’s shoulder, massaging his back, “you know my answer to the question which disturbs you, neither of us can know for certain whether the spell has restored some of my soul or taken possession of my body without carrying back the original essence from the core of the Dementor. It seems that the manuscript implies the prior, but it is ambiguous enough to allow considerable doubt, as you have evidently observed. Especially given how transparently we perceive and share one another’s thoughts and emotions, I can see why you _should_ doubt. I cannot know if I am my true self, no more than you can, and so I am helpless to offer proof. I am sorry Severus, if I have disappointed you.”

“The only way that I can think of determining the point is if I should act against you, in such a way that the fragments of your soul that are within you would revolt against a will that is destructive to their own – yet such a course would be fraught with uncertainty, and would inevitably be contrary to our happiness. I do not wish to do you greater harm, I do not wish for us to become enemies in order to discern the truth of the enchantment”

“Then you must learn to love yourself, if the worst is to be true,” Lucius smiled at the bittersweet notion, clutching at his breast. Severus smiled back, a wave of relief passing through him.

He helped Malfoy rise from the floor, careful to avoid the glass, offering that they should have breakfast. Lucius accepted, glad to feel that everything, somehow, would be okay. 


End file.
